


by these fists alone

by polarkai



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Angst and Porn, F/F, boxer!alex, underground boxing au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polarkai/pseuds/polarkai
Summary: She finds Alex in an underground boxing ring on the outskirts of National City.
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 186





	by these fists alone

**Author's Note:**

> ive been a slut for the thought of alex as an underground fighter for longer than i can remember so pls enjoy
> 
> also recommend giving my good friend daskey much-deserved appreciation for their art based on this fic, which you can see below and find [here](https://daskey.tumblr.com/post/624961969904091136/a-fighteralex-that-i-drew-for-a-pal-of-mine-to-go)

_Art by Daskey_

She finds Alex in an underground boxing ring on the outskirts of National City. 

Lena pauses in the doorway of the fight club, the perfect temporary disguise of an auto body shop, pulling her pea coat tighter around herself as she takes in the scene. She can’t quite make out the faces in the ring, but she can see red hair and the thick lines of a tattoo, the familiar, intimidating stance of her old friend standing out. 

When Alex circles around again to face Lena, there’s a thin trail of blood tracing the edge of her cheekbone, smeared across her jawline. 

And she looks positively unrelenting. 

Not that the look is out of place for her; Lena has seen the same dark glint in her eyes just before Alex transforms into who she has to be in the ring. There’s something to be said about the way Alex has always been more predator than prey, how she loves going in for the kill. 

The noise from the crowd — screaming, pounding, stomping — rattles the floor, makes the sickly fluorescent lights flicker and sway. Lena stays pressed against the back wall of the club, tucked into the shadows, and watches Alex methodically take her opponent apart piece by pieces. A vicious right hook cuts into her eyebrow, sending her stumbling back a few steps before she manages to balance herself on the mat, glistening with sweat, her chest heaving. 

_You have no idea who you’re dealing with,_ Lena thinks, as Alex wipes at the blood from above her eye. She’s good. Better than good. She’s exceptional, skilled and experienced in a way that’s clear this other woman isn’t. 

A minute later, Alex sends her fist flying into her opponent’s nose, and the woman promptly crumples to the ground on one knee, face covered in blood. The majority of the crowd goes silent for a moment, waiting with baited breath, and that’s when Alex looks across the room and meets Lena’s gaze. 

Lena gives her an approving nod just before the rest of the room erupts into roaring chaos, and Alex blinks the blood out of her eye and smirks at the applause. 

It’s not the first time Lena’s seen her like this after a fight — leather jacket the same dark red as her hair — but it’s the first time she’s seen Alex truly bloody. She’s been bruised before, discolored patches above her brow or on her cheek, faded marks along her neck and back like echoes of a fight gone wrong. But tonight, she sits with her hand pressing a towel to her head, applying pressure to the bloodied gash above her brow. 

Lena stands, rather silently, a few steps away from where Alex sits on the edge of the ring, legs dangling. She has a cigarette in her mouth, puffs of smoke swirling like clouds above her head, the air sticky with the heat of too many bodies trapped so close together. 

“You come here often?” It sounds like a shitty, cliche pick-up line, something that Lena internally cringes at as the words come out of her mouth, but thankfully, Alex knows what she means. 

“Venue changes every night,” she responds with a shrug. “Mostly it’s in the basement of Dollywood.” 

_Dollywood._ Lena remembers frequenting the rather dingy, worn-down bar a few times back when she and Alex still spoke, ordering rounds of amaetur-quality drinks after each win Alex came back with. 

Her eyes drift back up the gash above Alex’s eye, the way blood has crusted in her eyebrow. “I’m fine,” Alex mumbles before Lena can even ask. She glances up, meeting Lena’s gaze for the second time tonight, dark circles under her own. Vaguely, Lena wonders if she’s been sleeping. A thousand questions sit at the tip of her tongue, but she pushes them back. 

“You might need stitches,” she comments as Alex pulls the towel away with a sickening, sticky sound. And if her ears probably weren’t deceiving her, Lena would think that Alex seems to let out a real, genuine laugh at the remark, before her face twists up in pain and the laugh dies on her tongue immediately.

“Shit,” she hisses, pressing the towel back onto the gash, looking woozy.

“Put some ice on it, at least,” Lena suggests, a last-ditch attempt at making sure Alex actually takes care of herself for once. “It’ll swell.” 

“Thanks for the advice,” Alex grumbles, wincing as she frowns. 

“That’s what I’m here for,” Lena drawls, but Alex’s head snaps up, eyes dark, expression hardened. She raises her uninjured brow, unimpressed, and the momentary lapse in judgement against Lena is gone now, replaced once again with scalding anger.

“No, it’s not,” she contends, her tone morphing into something angry, something that _burns._ “Why _are_ you really here, Lena?” 

Lena hesitates. Folds and unfolds the card burning a hole in her pocket, out of Alex’s sight. “There’s a job,” she admits candidly, watching Alex scoff and flick the ash of her cigarette onto the dusty floor. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she laughs, bitterly, and shakes her head. Lena stays silent, unwavering in her admittance, lips pursed. She doesn’t blame Alex for not taking her seriously; they haven’t spoken in months, not since the disastrous night that tore them apart in the first place. 

She sighs. She’s close enough to Alex that she can smell her sweat, and even now, her presence is all-consuming; Lena doesn’t even need to touch her to know there is something akin to hunger inside of her. She is all power and misguided rage and to touch her again, Lena thinks, would mean being burned alive. But one glance doesn’t just light her on fire; it sets her at a constant, slow smolder, the absolute perfect torture. 

A deep inhale, and then, steeling herself already for the sting of rejection of any form, “There’s a job in Gotham,” she repeats again slowly, carefully, gauging Alex’s reaction this time. “I’m asking you to come with me.”

“Why?” Alex wastes no time with this question; it comes out harsh, biting. Lena deserves every bit of it. “So you can screw me over again? I think I’ll pass.” 

“I want to make it up to you.” 

“Make it up to me?” Alex snorts. “Lena, the last time I saw you, it was before I was lifted into an ambulance because of your own selfish mistakes. Whatever it is you want from me, I want no part of it.” 

Undeterred, Lena steps closer, able to see the way Alex’s eyes gleam under the dim lights. “I could be on a private island in Belize right now.” she argues calmly, pleading with Alex silently to trust her. “But I came back to National City just to find you and apologize. I said I wanted to make it up to you, and I mean it.”

She finally pulls the business card out of her pocket, extending it out to Alex, who looks at her hand with narrowed eyes. “Trust me. You’ll want to accept my offer.”

Alex snatches the card from her grip, eyes scanning the name in short bold letters printed on the front before looking back up at Lena. She’s sceptical, her mouth in a tight line, expression stony as she holds the card in her hands. 

“I’m not here to ruin your life, Alex,” Lena continues, watching the way Alex’s face shifts, eyes seeming to soften just slightly, just enough for Lena to feel comfortable taking another step closer, enough to feel her body heat. “This is a big opportunity. You already have Bruce Wayne’s bet.” 

“Bruce Wayne,” Alex muses, almost to herself, taking in the name on the business card again. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you’re not naive about how wealthy men spend their money,” Lena reminds her. “Lex himself could never stay away from this dangerous gamble, could he?” 

At the mention of Lex, Alex stiffens, and Lena feels a spark of guilt at bringing his name up. Her own brother was part of the reason she’d had Alex throw the fight the last time they’d seen each other, and thinking back on it now, she’s never regretted anything in her life more. 

“Lena…” She shakes her head, and Lena holds her breath, her heart pounding against her ribs in anxious anticipation for the next words to come out of Alex’s mouth. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” she offers in a brief show of desperation, gesturing to the card in Alex’s hands. “You come with me to Gotham and then you’ll never hear from me again.” 

Even the mere thought of never speaking to Alex Danvers again makes Lena sick to her stomach, but she makes the promise anyways, holding her ground. Alex pauses, deep in thought. The pounding against her ribs grows faster with each second that passes without an answer. 

Something conflicting flickers in Alex’s eyes, her jaw twitching, but it’s so miniscule that Lena almost doesn’t catch it. “Okay,” she finally agrees with a short nod, standing and extending her hand to shake Lena’s. “I’ll come with you.” 

“Trust me,” Lena says, able to feel the calluses of Alex’s palm against her own, “You won’t regret it.” 

Alex glances down at their joined hands, and Lena, suddenly feeling awkward, almost snatches it away in her haste. 

“I’ll probably grab a drink or two,” Alex tells her, shoving both her hands in the pockets of her jacket. Then, seeming to hesitate for just a moment, she clicks her tongue and shifts her weight awkwardly. “You could— you know, join me? We can talk about the job you travelled back here to recruit me for.” 

Lena doesn’t even hesitate. “It’d be my pleasure.” 

* * *

The bar smells like smoke and ale and stale tobacco, the only light coming from a few dim, flickering lights hanging from the ceiling. 

“Where’d you find this delightful spot?” Lena mutters sarcastically as they weave through a tiny crowd of an already-well-past drunk group of people, clinging onto Alex like a lifeline as they make their way to the bar. 

Alex chuckles, but she doesn’t seem embarrassed, or ashamed of the place she’s chosen. “I get free drinks here,” she explains, as if that’s supposed to make Lena feel any better about the look of the place. “The owner’s a friend of mine, we’ve had a few matches together.” 

Lena grimaces as she steps up to the bar, her heel coming back with something sticky from the floor. “Fabulous,” she mutters under her breath. “Tell me the liquor is at least safe for consumption?” 

Alex rolls her eyes. “Of course it is, your majesty.” 

She takes a seat on one of the cracked leather barstools, careful not to touch the sticky bartop as Alex flags down the bartender. “Scotch and a vodka tonic, please,” she calls out, and Lena tries to focus less on Alex and more on the bartender as he sets upon making their drinks. 

“You remember my order,” she observes without looking at the other woman, eyebrows furrowing. 

Alex is quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” she says then, after a brief stretch of silence between them, enough time for the bartender to finish their drinks and slide them over. Lena wraps her hands around the glass, idly messing with the lime on the rim. “Not like you changed it up a lot back then.” 

_Still,_ Lena thinks, but says nothing but, “Thank you,” as she takes a long sip through her straw. From the corner of her eyes, she vaguely catches the way Alex glances at her before looking away just as quickly, clinking the ice inside her glass.

“So,” she clears her throat, sitting up straighter. “This match in Gotham…” 

Lena folds her hands together. “It’s a lot of money,” she says, before anything else. “I‘m almost positive Wayne is willing to bet half his net worth on you.”

Alex frowns, expression pulling together, her lips pursed tightly. “Why?” she questions, almost to herself, it seems.

Lena takes another sip of her drink, relishing in the coolness as it slides down her throat, the hint of tartness from the lime. “He’s seen you fight before,” she explains. “And he’s lost a fair amount betting on your opponents. I suppose he’d finally like to be on the winning side for once.” 

For a long while, Alex doesn’t say much. She sips at her scotch until it’s nothing but ice, but she doesn’t yet gesture for another. “How do I know this isn’t like last time?” 

The question, while understandable, still manages to send a wave of guilt washing over Lena. She inhales deeply and clasps her hands together even tighter than before. “I made you a promise,” she reminds her seriously. “I don’t intend to break it.” 

Finally, Alex flags down the bartender for a refill, but when she looks towards Lena’s half-empty glass, Lena shakes her head. “I’m trusting you against my better judgement here,” Alex tells her. “I’m trusting you not to fuck me over this time.” 

Lena doesn’t even hesitate in her response. “I won’t.” 

She doesn't end up getting drunk that night with Alex, like she used to. She's always been sensible, weighing up consequences before she acts, and she's insufficiently sure that the consequences here would be good, so she leaves Alex’s company still sober enough. 

She gets drunk the next night instead. In some nightclubs she hasn’t been to yet, on her own, because every rule exists to be broken. At least, that’s what Lex had always said, back when they were kids.

Naturally, Lena figures getting drunk this evening is a safe bet. She just forgot to factor _phones_ into her decision-making. Namely their easy availability — there's a payphone just inside the bar, so it doesn't matter that she’s forgotten to charge her own — and Alex’s surprising, and downright idiotic, willingness to answer an unknown number.

"I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I shouldn’t have protected Lex over you." And of course, Lena is extremely lucid and collected and manages to get every word out distinctly.

Alex just grunts, like she’s just woken up. Maybe she has. Her voice is groggy when she speaks into the phone, hoarse with sleep, “Lena, you don’t have to—”

“No, but I do,” Lena cuts her off, shaking her head despite the fact that Alex can’t see her. “I do. You trusted me, and I— I broke that, and I don’t even know why you agreed to come to Gotham with me after what I’ve done to you. I’m sorry.”

There’s a long stretch of silence over the other line, long enough that it makes Lena want to slam her head against the wall. “Where are you?” Alex finally asks, sounding more awake suddenly, more sober than Lena feels. 

She’s positively slurring her words by the time she manages to figure out which nightclub she’s in at the moment, relaying the name to Alex through the shitty phone connection inside. As soon as it’s out of her mouth, Alex hangs up without so much as a goodbye, and Lena stumbles back over to the VIP section she’d been in just minutes earlier, grabbing the bottle of liquor from the ice bucket to drown out her regrets with more alcohol. 

She doesn’t expect Alex to appear in the club just twenty minutes later. 

“Come on,” she gestures for Lena to stand up, eyes taking in the multiple empty glasses and the bottle of vodka that’s only quarter-full now. “I’m taking you home.” 

“You don’t even know where I live,” Lena huffs, but she stands up anyways, ignoring the way the world seems to tilt underneath her feet. 

“Yeah, I do,” Alex rolls her eyes. “It’s not exactly a secret anyways, considering who you are.” 

It's late enough that there's a faint chill in the air, enough to make Lena shiver as soon as they step outside, before a worn leather jacket is being thrown around her bare shoulders. 

“Thanks,” she tries to say, but the words get caught in her throat, an unintelligible sound escaping instead. Her face burns red with embarrassment, but Alex just chuckles lightly. 

“Okay, Luthor,” she sighs, and if Lena was to think too much into it, she’d say it sounded almost affectionate in it’s gentleness. “Let’s get you home.” 

Alex’s Ducati sits big and intimidating and shiny in the back alley of the nightclub, propped up with two motorcycle helmets waiting for them on the leather seat. Lena frowns, but one look at Alex tells her that not wearing it is not an option here, so she plops the helmet onto her head and tries not to focus on the way it smells like Alex’s shampoo. 

She’s never ridden a motorcycle, much less _Alex’s_ motorcycle. It’s daunting, especially considering the way the ground is still tilting beneath her feet, but she straddles the bike anyways as Alex throws a leg over the seat, revving up the engine louder than she probably needs to. For show, most likely; ever so cocky. 

“Hold tight, princess,” Lena vaguely hears her call out over the rumble, and she just barely has enough time to grasp onto the sides of Alex’s shirt before they’re shooting out of the alleyway and swerving into the darkened street. 

This is too much. And a bad idea considering Lena is still very drunk and very close to Alex right now, pressed up against her back, her arms moving to wrap around the redhead’s torso as they start to go faster, weaving through traffic in a way that Lena _knows_ is illegal, but then, if her entire job isn’t an indication already, Alex has never been one for following the law.

By the time they get to her penthouse, Lena feels dizzy, and all she wants to do is go to bed. Alex, however, seems to have a different idea. 

“You should shower,” she suggests as they walk in, throwing her keys onto the table beside the front door and kicking her boots off. Making herself at home. “It’ll make you feel better later, trust me.” 

Lena just huffs, but she makes her way to the grand bathroom anyways. 

By the time she comes out, wrapped in just a towel, her hair falling in damp ringlets down her bare shoulders, Alex has settled onto the couch with one of Lena’s books in her lap, the fireplace crackling beneath the TV. She glances up when she sees Lena in her peripheral, shutting the book and setting it on the coffee table. “Feel better?”

“A bit,” Lena concedes, shrugging a shoulder. She’s tired, and the thought of having a conversation with Alex — more specifically, a conversation about what she’d said over the phone earlier — seems more like a _tomorrow_ problem. “I’m going to head to bed.” 

Alex watches her from the doorway of the master bedroom. "I'd like to stay,” she says, leaving no room for an actual _no._ “Is that okay?" 

She doesn't wait for an answer, climbing into bed next to Lena, seeming to not realize that she’s still in most of her clothes, save for her socks. “I— that’s fine,” Lena answers, despite the fact that Alex has already made herself comfortable. In her still semi-drunken state, she has half a mind to be glad that she doesn’t accidentally admit that she would’ve been disappointed if Alex had left.

The way the redhead curls up against her is as unexpected as the genuine civility earlier, but just as welcome. She rests one arm over Lena, calloused fingers resting comfortably against Lena’s stomach. She’s asleep in seconds, snoring softly, just like she used to. 

Lena doesn't take much longer to drift off.

* * *

Gotham, in all it’s dark and dreary glory, does nothing but remind Lena just how well she’s had it, spending her childhood in Metropolis and the better part of her adulthood National City. Thick, grey clouds hang above them like a bad omen, their boots splashing in the puddles along the street as they make their way to the address Bruce Wayne had given out, their path illuminated only by the dim street lights above.

Abruptly, Alex comes to a halt, and Lena just barely keeps from running into her from behind, peering over her shoulder. In front of their path, a trio of rats are picking apart the bones of what Lena sincerely hopes to be a rotisserie chicken. 

“Gotta love Gotham,” Alex mutters, carefully avoiding _that_ particular scene and carrying on her way, Lena trailing behind her with a grimace. 

“Here,” she points out, just as Alex is about to pass by the carefully hidden underground staircase of a club tucked in between two other buildings. She gives a sharp nod to the tall, buff bouncer at the doorway, who takes one look at the two of them and opens the door, the hinges creaking. 

Almost immediately, Lena’s nostrils are overtaken by the smell of smoke and blood as they weave through packs of sweaty bodies in the nightclub basement, each person eagerly awaiting the only fight they came to see. 

“Figured Bruce Wayne, of all people, would have slightly better taste than this,” Alex murmurs to Lena as they make their way to the center of the basement, where a makeshift boxing ring has been set up, the whole look of the place tied together solely by the dusty, bloodstained mats. 

“You’d be surprised,” Lena grumbles back, eyes scanning the crowd for the man in question. She spots him tucked away in the corner, clad in a fine-pressed suit and bowtie, a glass of champagne in his left hand and a cigar in his right. “Why don’t I introduce you?”

Alex shrugs off her robe, leaving her in only a sports bra and shorts. She pulls on her gloves and lights a cigarette of her own as Lena leads her towards the face of Wayne Enterprises, seeming to be buzzing with anxiety. It’s out of character for her, something Lena notices immediately, but she rests a hand against Alex’s forearm. 

“Breathe,” she assures her, catching Alex’s eye. “He’s no more important than I am.” 

With a resolute nod, Alex seems to attempt to relax, rolling her shoulders back and exhaling long and slow. “Right. It’s just— it’s different with you.” 

Lena tries not to make it obvious how those certain words send warmth bursting in her chest, a feeling she shouldn’t be letting herself have in the first place. Instead, she tilts her head and gestures for Bruce to come over with a smile. 

“Bruce!” she greets, sickly sweet, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. “It’s wonderful to see you again. You know my associate Alex Danvers?” 

Bruce smiles, wide and wicked as he takes Alex in, from the sharp edges of her face to her toned muscles. “Why, yes, I do,” he nods, setting down his champagne and extending a hand for her to shake. “I’ve seen a good number of your matches.”

Alex smiles politely as she takes his hand. “It’s an honor, sir,” she greets, and Lena can’t help the small chuckle that slides past her lips, earning an immediate glare from Alex as she lets go of Bruce’s hand.

Bruce leans down, quiet next to Alex’s ear. “I’m counting on you, Miss Danvers,” he says, almost like a warning. “Lena has reassured plenty that you won’t let me down.” 

The heated look she shoots towards Lena is almost enough to kill. “She did, huh,” she mutters under her breath, before looking back towards Bruce and plastering her smile back on. “You won’t be disappointed tonight, Mr. Wayne.” 

The sharp strike of a bell ends their conversation, and suddenly, Lena’s watching the shift in Alex’s demeanor as she prepares herself for the upcoming fight, stretching out her arms and rolling her neck. She breathes out deeply, taking on a hardened look in her eyes, her expression morphing into what Lena recognizes as something predatory, something bloodthirsty. 

“You’ve got this,” she assures her, patting Alex on the shoulder just before she steps into the metal gate, meeting her opponent in the center.

Lena’s seen her fair share of boxing matches — it’s a form of _business,_ for God’s sake. Hell if she’s not going to be the best business woman she can be. She’s seen men and women fight in six inches of mud, underneath a dark alley of the city, with no referee or judge. Without gloating, Lena can even go so far as to say she’s a fighter herself, taking into consideration every bi-weedkly assassination attempt on her life. 

She simply prefers to fight with a gun when it’s all said and done. 

Alex, however, has always been drawn to using her hands. It’s beautiful, Lena thinks, in a tortured kind of way. Within the barriers of the ring, Alex flexes her taped hands, blows the hair out of her face, and Lena waits eagerly for her to throw the first punch. 

She might be too optimistic, but she swears Alex gives her an actual smile before she cracks her knuckles and lunges. 

By the end of the match, Alex’s opponent leaves with a split lip and a rattled jaw, and spectators in the crowd leave with or without the money they’d bet. Meanwhile, even after her win, Alex comes out of the ring with broken ribs. 

She collapses onto the mat, clutching an arm around herself, and Lena tries not to focus on the way seeing Alex in pain still manages to set her own chest on fire. The medic presses lightly against her torso and Alex winces, nodding her head, and Lena’s only able to make out the words _punctured lung._

As soon as Alex limps over to her, Lena wants to smack her. 

“You’re an idiot,” she scolds, and Alex rolls her eyes. 

“What?” 

“A punctured lung?” Lena repeats Alex’s words from afar, cocking an eyebrow. 

“You know how dangerous this gig is,” Alex reminds her, and, well. Lena can’t exactly argue. Underground fighting is illegal for a reason, after all, and it’s not as though she hasn’t witnessed it’s disastrous effects as a spectator firsthand. “I’m _fine_ ,” Alex assures her, softer, almost, after taking one look at Lena’s face. “I was saying that a pneumothorax is only a possibility when it comes to broken ribs, not always the outcome.”

Lena purses her lips, unable to stay quiet on the matter. “You waste your intellect, you know.” 

Alex reels back, a confused expression on her face, one that quickly shifts into something more hostile. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands, voice unusually shrill, like it usually gets when she’s offended. “Are you calling me stupid?” 

“The complete opposite,” Lena rolls her eyes. “You could be in med school.” 

Alex shakes her head. “Med school was never going to work out for me,” she argues, and that’s that. Lena knows when to take a hint, and to get _Alex Danvers_ angry enough could quite possibly be a death sentence, even for her.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to wait long for an excuse to change the subject as Bruce Wayne pushes through the crowd to get to them, a broad smile on his face, the look of pure satisfaction. “Well, it seems I’ve finally placed my bets on the right woman. You’ve made quite the impression tonight, Miss Danvers. We’ll be in touch.” 

Alex just manages to smile through a grimace, an arm still wrapped around her torso as she leans forward slightly to shake Bruce’s hand again, nodding at him. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” 

It’s only once he’s disappeared back into the swarm of bodies that Alex turns to Lena and smiles, warm and genuine, the kind that makes Lena’s head spin. She wants so badly to reach up, drag her thumb across Alex’s bottom lip, cup her cheek and kiss her again. She wants one last taste of her, especially since this is the end. 

_The end._

She’d almost forgotten the promise she’d made that first night she’d found her way back to Alex. 

She tries to shove back the sinking feeling in her chest at the realization, though, choosing instead to plaster a smile on her face and try not to look at Alex like she just kicked a puppy. “We should celebrate your win,” she suggests with raised brows. “One last time.” 

An expression crosses Alex’s face that Lena can’t quite decipher, but then she smirks, gingerly wrapping herself in her jacket and nodding in agreement. “Yeah,” she agrees. “My place?” 

* * *

They’ve just gotten back to Alex’s apartment from their short trip back to National City, shivering from the rain and shedding their coats as quickly as they can, when Lena thinks, _this is it._ It’s the end of their deal. Alex came with her to Gotham. She won the fight, she got her money and a new reputation, thanks to Bruce Wayne — there’s nothing left keeping her here. 

So why isn’t Alex turning her away yet?

It only serves to fill her with a daunting anticipation for what’s to come, her chest flooded with anxiety, waiting for the words ‘ _you need to leave.’_

They don’t come. Instead, the only words that come out of her mouth are, “I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.” 

Alex mutters this from her spot in the doorway, watching Lena as she watches her, soaked from the rain. Eyebrows furrowed, expression pulled tight; she looks annoyed, almost, and then Lena thinks, _here it comes._

She blinks, moves the wet strands of hair out of her eyes. “Like what?” 

“Like—” Alex looks away, fiddling idly with a loose thread on her sweater. “Like you’re _waiting_ for something.”

“Maybe I am.” 

“Then what is it?” Alex demands, hands flying up before dropping back down to her sides with a slap against her thighs. “What are you waiting for, Lena?” 

“Tell me what you want me to say,” Lena breathes, her fingertips pale, almost ghostly white against Alex’s tanned skin, the thick black lines of her tattoos as she reaches out to touch her. Her muscles are more defined than they were all those months ago, tense under Lena’s grip. Her chest is bruised, splatters of dark grey and purple littered across her skin from her broken ribs, peeking out from beneath the bandages wrapped neatly around her torso. 

Her heart is racing beneath Lena’s palm. 

Alex swallows hard, the action visible to Lena by the bobbing of her throat, and smiles like she finds the situation funny, in a way. “I don’t—”

“Tell me something truthful,” Lena cuts her off, leaning closer until Alex’s smile fades and her eyes darken, “and I’ll leave here and never look back, just like I promised before. You have my word.”

“Never?” The cold casualness suddenly disappears from Alex’s voice, nothing more than a hoarse whisper in the dimness of the apartment. 

Lena swallows past the lump in her throat. When did that get there? “Never,” she confirms, and if Alex notices the shakiness in her voice, she says nothing. They hold each other’s gaze, Lena’s breath caught in her throat. Her free hand twitches at her side, desperate to touch Alex even more than she is already, to feel _all_ of her under her fingertips. 

She’s not prepared for Alex to exhale deeply, replying to her question with something akin to defeat. “I didn’t leave because you made me lose the fight. I left because of what happened the night before.” 

A sharp, hot ache blooms in Lena’s chest. “You kissed me first,” she reminds her lowly, the back of her eyelids burning. 

“I was drunk,” Alex snaps in disagreement, face suddenly red, contorted in pain like even speaking hurts. Maybe it does, with the way her chest heaves. “We both were.”

Lena snorts softly and shakes her head. “I had half a glass of vodka tonic, and you barely finished your scotch. Try again.”

Alex glares at her, but it resembles fear more than anger, like there’s something she doesn’t want to admit even now. “I barely remember that night,” she tries to defend herself, but Lena’s having none of it. 

“Of course you do,” she argues. “You remember _everything,_ just like I do.”

For a split second after that, Lena’s almost afraid that Alex is going to hit her. She adopts the same expression she wears so often in the ring, eager for a fight, so much adrenaline coursing through her that she can’t feel the pain of the responding punches. 

But instead, she steps forward and takes Lena’s face in her hands, pressing their mouths together in a messy kiss, more the clashing of teeth than anything else, her body trembling with something like _need._

It only takes Lena half a second to kiss her back, her hand going to the back of Alex’s head, fisting in her hair. “I knew you wanted me,” she whispers against Alex’s lips, and the feeling of confidence that surges inside her is well-deserved with the way Alex gingerly presses closer, deepening the kiss in response. 

“Shut up,” she hisses, pulling away briefly enough to start mouthing at Lena’s jawline. Suddenly, Alex’s hands are everywhere and her nose skims down Lena’s neck, trailing kisses, breath warm and wet. “Do you want me too?” she asks, the words tickling Lena’s throat. She tilts her head back, as if to invite the hot mouth against her skin to go further. “Lena—”

Alex calls her name like it’s both a prayer and a curse. 

Her hands come up to rest on Lena’s chest and her breath collapses inside her lungs, reminiscent of a building falling. She grasps at Alex’s wrist with her hand, an anchor, one she doesn’t think she deserves, but what is she if not a _taker?_

What is left of her if she doesn’t take everything she can, if Alex doesn’t _give_ as freely as she does?

She looks up at her, and National City outside seems to sway on its hinges; or maybe she’s just too dizzy from this feeling, from the way Alex arches into her, all rugged skin and heat radiating from her body. 

“Lena,” she whispers again, her hands grasping for purchase at her shoulders, bringing her closer. And it’s when Alex first moans into her mouth that the bright, hot glint of desire shoots through her body, leaving her almost breathless. 

It’s the only time her name has ever felt _holy._

It doesn’t take long after that, for Alex to get her legs around her waist, for most of their clothes to be shed. They fit together as if that’s all they were born to do, grasping at Lena’s hair with something akin to desperation. 

Alex’s legs fall open as Lena settles between them, feeling more at home than she has a right to, as if she’s always belonged there. The air crackles around them, tension hanging like a fog above them. Lena feels it right down to her bones, the way a subtle warm ache simmers under the surface of her skin. 

_Don’t make me leave,_ she thinks, trailing her lips down the curve of Alex’s collarbone. 

Alex’s arms curl around the back of her neck, pull her closer, and Lena kisses her again, months of longing spilling into Alex’s mouth as she drags her fingertips down to her chest. She doesn't know if this is allowed, so she hesitates, pulling back for a moment before Alex grabs at her hand and puts it back where it was, her fingertips against the smooth curve of her breast.

She gasps loud and unashamed as Lena ducks down, tongue swirling around her nipple, teeth scraping lightly against the soft skin there. She drags her palm across Alex’s toned abdomen, her inner thighs, feeling the other woman shiver beneath her touch, still careful not to hurt her fractured ribcage even further.

There’s a fine line between slow and agonizing, and Lena has always found her entertainment from pulling at it. 

It’s familiar, the way Alex squirms and writhes underneath her, the way she gasps and moans in Lena’s ear. It’s reminiscent of the last night they shared when their bodies were pressed together, when Lena’s mouth trailed against the slickness of Alex’s skin in the darkness of the hotel room in Metropolis.

“Don’t stay in your head,” Alex warns her, lips on the corner of her mouth, “not when I’m asking you to fuck me.”

The words alone send shockwaves through Lena’s system and straight to her core, and the first press of her fingers inside wet, slick heat only makes the feeling of need skyrocket. Alex clings onto her shoulder with a gasp as Lena pushes further, stretching her out, eagerly exploring. It doesn’t take long to remember what the other woman likes, twisting and curling her fingers as her thumb slides against Alex’s clit, circling and pressing just lightly enough to leave the redhead a mess beneath her. 

“Fuck, Lena,” she breathes out, a hand tangling in Lena’s hair, pulling hard enough for her head to tilt back up. Their lips meet again, hot and messy, as Lena quickens her pace and presses into the spot deep inside that has Alex trembling, seeming to want to arch into Lena, if it weren’t for the broken ribs holding her back. “Fuck, _fuck_ _—”_

It doesn’t take long for Alex to become completely unraveled, hot and wet and clenching around Lena’s fingers as she comes, a downright filthy moan escaping from between her lips and right into Lena’s own mouth. 

It takes her a moment to catch her breath, her chest heaving, skin flushed pink. She laughs, a reaction to the burst of euphoria, running a shaking hand through the damp strands of her hair. “That was— shit, Luthor,” she huffs out, chuckling breathlessly, all traces of previous frustration gone from her face. She gasps lightly as Lena slides out, leaving her empty, fingers coated in Alex’s arousal. 

She curls up then, an arm slung around Alex’s waist, fingertips trailing over the bare skin of her hip, running along lines of stretch marks and over barely-raised freckles, as if touching Alex in any possible way is the only thing she _can_ do. 

As much as she wants to be cocky, wants to appreciate the fact that she made Alex Danvers come, there’s still a burning question on Lena’s tongue, begging to be asked. She holds herself back, though, hesitant, taking in the way Alex gazes up at her in a post-orgasmic haze. 

“Alex,” she starts, a whisper in the dark. She brushes her fingertips along Alex’s cheekbone, down the line of her jaw, across her bottom lip. “Do you want me to stay?” 

Because if Alex still wants her gone, she’ll leave. Somehow, she’ll leave. 

At first, Alex doesn’t say a word, even as she comes down from her moment of bliss and seems to sober up, her eyes clearing of the fog of arousal, lips slightly agape. _“Alex,”_ she repeats, insistent.

“Yes,” Alex finally breathes out, like a sigh of defeat, like an admittance forced out of her. “I want you to stay. I shouldn't, but I do.” 

Lena shifts, carefully pressing closer. The guilt and regret seems to melt from her all at once, a weight lifting off her shoulders as she runs her fingers through Alex’s hair, brushing it out of her eyes. “You’re sure?” she asks, despite herself.

Alex rolls her eyes. Smiles, genuinely. Lena feels like her chest is about to cave in on itself. “Yes,” she assures her, voice softer than she’s ever heard it, “I’m sure. Stay with me.” 

So Lena does. 


End file.
